


if i miss my chance, i didn’t even try

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: “our christmas party turned into a tropical theme because the radiator is broken and it’s hotter than hell in here - damn you look good without a shirt i never noticed before asgdhfjgkhl”</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i miss my chance, i didn’t even try

It is a large sweater - oversized in that way that models are able to pull off with leggings and messy hair. Emma carefully curls her hair instead and chooses the thickest pair of leggings she owns. There’s a faint orange stain on the back and ridiculous shoulder pads and strands of embroidery coming loose on the oversized Christmas tree emblazoned on the front. If she were a girl who had more fun and went to more parties, maybe she would have replaced her single “ugly sweater” that was required at at least one holiday get-together a year, but she’s cheap and lazy and it has started to become a badge of pride with her.

At least, it would be if she didn’t get a text message right as she was about to walk out the door.

_Elsa: Leave that stupid sweater at home. Will says their radiator is broken and the theme is now Christmas in July._

She frowns and examines herself in the hall mirror, looking the very picture of wintery Christmas fun.

_Emma: wtf kind of theme is that?_

_Elsa: One where hula skirts and Hawaiian shirts are required unless you want to melt._

A quick rummage through her closet and Emma finds a pair of cutoff shorts, a white tank, and her favorite bikini. She tops the unseason look with her thick boots and knee-length coat, stepping into the sub-zero chill in time for Elsa’s car to pull up to her building.

“What are you wearing?” Emma asks, eyeing Elsa’s own puffy jacket.

“Sundress. I turned down Will’s suggestion to show up naked.” She rolls her eyes and pulls into traffic, expertly navigating the ten-minute drive through slush with classical piano Christmas music wafting out of her speakers. There are some days when Emma wonders what the hell her elegant friend Elsa sees in loudmouth hasn’t-grown-out-of-being-a-fratboy Will Scarlet.

And then she sees how Elsa’s face lights up with Will opens the door and she fucking remembers.

“Hullo,” Will grins, sweeping his arm to welcome them to his apartment and taking Elsa’s coat with a soft kiss on her cheek. He takes Emma’s as well, though with less affection (which she’s glad for) and slips away to put them in a bedroom down the hall. Emma’s well used to the space and its occupants so she and Elsa quickly make themselves at home in the kitchen, joking with Ruby and trying a few of the ridiculous concoctions Will has been making up.

“Who’s ready for the limbo contest?”

Another British accent pipes up from behind Emma and she turns to roll her eyes at Will’s roommate, Killian, notorious flirt and borderline alcoholic. But her eyes only make it as far down as the very  _European_ speedo he’s sporting under a flimsy Hawaiian skirt before her eyes stop in their tracks, unable to move any further.

“See something you like, Swan?”

Her mouth has fallen open in surprise and Emma struggles to close it and regain her dignity as her gaze moves northward, across the wide expanse of his bare chest, to the smirk on his stupid face.

He looks proud of himself for shaking her, for finally getting to her after months and months of relentless flirting. She recovers, swallowing thickly and giving him a smirk of her own. Emma can feel the eyes of everyone on her - David disapproving, Ruby excited, Elsa annoyed, Graham amused - and she straightens her shoulders and raises an eyebrow.

“I just thought shirts were required at this party.” Emma toys with one of her tank top straps. “I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Oh wouldn’t you have?”

It is a clear challenge and Emma has never been one to back down from a challenge. She sets down her red solo cup of eggnog and crosses her arms to tug the thin cloth off of her chest. Emma tosses it at him with a laugh that only makes her stomach flip when his own eyes go dark at the sight of her bikini top.

“Merry Christmas to me,” he mutters.

But the confrontation is enough for the crowd, who all roll their eyes this time and turn back to the story Anna had been telling.

They do get to the limbo contest after a while, after all of them have had more than enough to drink and they stumble under the red-and-white striped pvc pipe painted to resemble a peppermint stick. Mary Margaret wins easily, though Ruby calls foul since she’s the shortest of them and Will complains that she’s the only one that’s sober. She accepts the flower crown while making a face to her protesters, which makes them all laugh. And hell, they all love Mary Margaret, so they let it slide.

Emma’s not sure when, exactly, Elsa disappears, only that she doesn’t notice it until Mary Margaret has dragged David’s  _extremely_ drunk ass home and the others are bundling up to make the treks through the falling snow to their own nearby apartments that her friend is nowhere to be found.

And Will’s gone too.

“Not to worry, Swan,” Killian teases, laying his hand on her bare shoulder as the crowd wraps hats and scarves around their bodies in preparation for the chill. “Will is notorious for finishing early. I am sure that Elsa shall be at your disposal in but a quarter hour.”

Emma tries to roll her eyes but the motion just makes her dizzy, so she sits back on the couch and reaches for the glass of water Mary Margaret had set next to her before leaving.

Killian rises to hug some of the guests and Emma blatantly checks out his speedo-covered ass as he leans forward. She’s been toeing the delightful line between  _drunk_ and  _totally trashed_  for hours now and so she allows herself the chance to watch her undeniably sexy friend. It’s a shame that she’s denied herself the privilege of lusting after him for this long. He turns suddenly, his crotch now in her line of sight, and Emma traces her bottom lip lazily.

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Emma blinks and looks up but all the others have left. Make that twice now that her powers of perception have failed her.

“It’s just you, Killian,” Emma laughs, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the couch back. The cushion dips, alerting her to Killian’s presence on her left side, but she doesn’t move.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Emma’s head spinning and her body humming with awareness at his closeness and delightful looseness at all the alcohol. When she finally opens her eyes and turns to face him, she catches him watching her softly. There is a gentleness she hasn’t seen before - a glimpse behind the mask of cockiness and swagger and innuendo. Emma blinks, waiting for it to vanish again, but the corners of his mouth just turn up and his eyes crinkle, reflecting some of that same drunken haziness she’s been experiencing.

“You are stunning, Swan,” he whispers. “I’ve always thought so.”

Emma blushes and looks down. The fringes of his hula skirt are all over the place and one of the edges almost touches her bare thigh. She moves closer so her knee could nudge his if he moved it.

“Killian.” She can’t look at his eyes anymore, so she settles for his lips and starts wondering what they would feel like across her stomach. “I don’t think Elsa is coming out of there tonight. Can I crash here?”

He seems to come to himself, though the haze is still in his eyes, and when he stands up he isn’t as graceful as she’s always noticed him to be. Killian reaches out his hand and helps her up. She’s grateful for it.

“I shall give you my bed,” he says, squeezing her hand before he drops it and leads the way to his room. “I can stay on the couch.” Emma follows the familiar path and breaks into a lazy smile at the sight of his bed. It is a queen - all the better for his romps, she figures - but it is also neatly made up and it looks nice and comfortable. She plucks the two remaining coats up, tosses them to the far side, and dramatically flops down on the mattress.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Killian’s footsteps move toward the door but Emma finds the energy to sit up, head still spinning, and shout, “Wait.” He turns, slowly, and raises a confused and almost sad eyebrow. “Wait,” she repeats herself, quietly this time. Emma stands carefully and steps forward so that their bare toes brush against one another and she can feel the heat radiating not only from the broken radiator, but from his body so close to her own. Not breaking their eye contact until the last moment, Emma rises up on her toes and presses her lips against his in a sloppy slide that makes her feel warm all over.

He stays frozen, however, and when she pulls back he looks incredibly wary.

“I think I’m just drunk enough to do that,” she murmurs. “But not too drunk that I won’t remember it.” Her cheeks turn warm under his scrutiny and at sudden embarrassment for what she’s just done.

“But far too drunk for me to feel comfortable, Swan,” Killian grunts. He takes a step back and Emma can almost feel a chill go down her spine. “Poor form to take advantage.”

She closes the gap again and places her palm on the middle of his chest, walking him backwards a few steps so his eyes flutter in surprise and he stumbles a bit. “Do you want me to tell you the names of all my elementary school teachers so I can prove how capable I am of making decisions?” she asks, lips twisting into a coy smile. She’s not completely lying - her brain is still functioning - but its like the little switch to her inhibitions, the one that has been guarding her heart since she was a kid - has been turned off, leaving her eager to let loose and do the things she’s been thinking of for ages now. “Or how about I remember thinking the first time that I met you how incredibly sexy you are and how I wanted to jump you? Or that time you took Elsa to the hospital and missed that big interview and I knew right then what a good friend and good person you were?” Emma stops pushing him backwards but closes the last of the gap again so her breasts brush against his chest. She smiles up at him, loose and free. “Or maybe I can just chronicle all the ways that  _I_  want to take advantage of  _you_.”

Any more convincing is apparently unnecessary, because then Killian’s lips are against her own, warm and solid and eager. She responds in kind, not caring how sloppy her kisses are, or how she’s suddenly forgotten what you’re supposed to do with your tongues. He nibbles on her bottom lip and she sighs, knees growing weak. He’s there to support her though, his hand strong against the small of her back, all of him pressed up against all of her. She leans against him, pulling away for only a moment to catch her breath, then diving back in for more. He tastes like the spiked eggnog they’ve all been drinking - rich and spicy and creamy and  _perfect_. Emma pulls away again to breathe, smiles at that stupidly handsome face, and ducks her head to run kisses down his throat.

He moans her name as she gets lower and she catalogues that information for later. Emma runs the flat of her tongue across his collarbone and nibbles at the deliciously salty skin. His own fingers are now slick across the small of her back, where sweat from that damn radiator has pooled, and if they keep going at it like this she’s going to turn into a puddle, leaving behind only a bikini to let people know Emma Swan was ever there.

Emma makes her way back up his throat and curls her tongue along the shell of his ear. “Hey,” she whispers right as the tips of his fingers dip beneath her cutoffs and she squirms against him, “how big is your shower?”

“I don’t-” he gasps a little when she tugs on his earlobe and she has to release it and lean away so she can soak in the way his eyes are hooded and his hair is already rumpled, “I don’t know why that is important, love.”

“I’m hot.” Emma pecks him on the lips. “You’re hot.” Another peck. “Let’s cool off.”

She flicks open the button to her shorts and lets them fall down her legs, pooling at her feet. That inhibition button is getting ready to be turned on again, so Emma doesn’t look in his eyes before stepping out of her cutoffs and darting around him to leave his room and walk down the hall to the bathroom. She goes right to the tub and cranks the tap to something colder than normal, though not icewater. Emma scrambles into the tub as soon as she is satisfied, no sign of Killian.

Under the showerhead, Emma throws back her head and lets the water wash away the can of hairspray she applied earlier in the evening, cool waves rushing down her head and across her shoulders. Now that it is on her body and not her hand, she realizes maybe she made it too cold, the temperature making her nipples harden beneath her swimsuit and goosebumps erupt across her flesh.

“Are the facilities to your liking, love?”

Killian’s voice startles her from the other side of the decorative shower curtain and Emma jumps in place, hand flying to the side of the shower. She turns to face the showerhead and summons up her ability to play it as cool as the water.

“Why don’t you come join me and find out for yourself?”

One foot lands wetly behind her, then another, and then Killian’s hands are anchored at her hips, still warm from the radiator. She steps forward, completely under the spray, and he follows her until he is completely pressed to her back. Emma closes her eyes and leans against him again, enjoying the shivers running down her body and the comfort of him against her and the erection she can feel nudging at her ass.

“I got a little sweaty at your stupid party,” she teases. “Got any soap in here for me to wash off?”

He chuckles, something dark and inviting that makes her toes curl, and steps away from her. Emma takes the opportunity to finally turn, noticing that he’s still wearing that speedo. And somehow, that dorky consideration of his, it makes this whole situation feel less serious and more fun. Killian turns back in time to catch her smiling, but he only smiles in return, pleased as punch to have her in the shower with him, and hands her a bright green bottle.

“Pine tree,” he says by way of explanation. “Will thought a Christmas scent would put Elsa in a particularly  _giving_ mood.”

Emma snorts and it turns into a full-on laugh when Killian leans out of the shower and almost slides right out, turning back with a victorious wash cloth held toward her.

“Do you think it worked?” she asks, squirting the green liquid on the wash cloth, capping it, and setting it on the edge of the tub. Emma starts with her arms, carefully scrubbing and spreading the smelly goo.

“We haven’t heard from them in quite some time, so perhaps,” Killian responds. He leans out of the tub again for his own washcloth and repeats her motions. “Generous Christmas spirit and all that.”

Emma raises an eyebrow, washing carefully beneath her bikini top. “So is that why you told me to use this body wash? You thought it would make me  _generous_?”

“Love, you wound me.” Killian dramatically claps his hand to his chest, sending a splash when the damp flesh is struck. “I only meant to imply that  _I_  was in a giving mood.” He does that thing where he raises his eyebrows and smirks and Emma has to look down at her task before she starts to imagine looking down at that face between her thighs.

In a few minutes they’ve both scrubbed their bodies with the strong scent and taken their turns under the spray, Emma unable to resist running her hands down Killian’s back when he was under the water, tracing the droplets on their downward paths.

“Are you done, Swan?” Killian asks after a minute of her fingers drawing nonsense on his skin.

“Not by half,” she whispers against his shoulder. “But you can turn off the water.”

He bends over to switch off the tap and stands to turn and cup her face in his hand.

“Bloody gorgeous,” he says, looking in her eyes, taking all of her in, no hair products, no makeup, no fear of how close and affectionate he is. “So bloody gorgeous.”

She kisses him again, softer than she had before, their bodies almost touching, and it is as if she can feel every drop of water held in tension between them. He smiles against her kiss and her heart melts. That inhibition is definitely gone now, so she swallows and pulls back.

“I think I’m sober by now,” she mutters.

Killian’s hand is still cupping her cheek and so he is close enough for her to catch the disappointment in his eyes. “Ah,” he says. He drops his arm and then pulls back the shower curtain and gestures to the wicker shelf beside them. “Towels are there and my bed is still open for your use. I imagine the snow has really piled up.”

Emma steps away and carefully exits the tub, clutching one towel to herself and handing a second one to Killian. She dries off a little awkwardly, what with the swimsuit still on and all, but Killian seems to notice right away.

“Let me get you something to sleep in, love.”

With a towel hanging around his neck, Killian looks like one of those swimmers she always ogled at the Olympics, all lean muscle and tiny swimsuit. She follows him silently back to his bedroom and pays particular attention to that ass of his. Killian pulls open a drawer and places a shirt on his bed.

It is her favorite of his, an old band shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes and emphasizes his great arms. Emma smiles to herself and wonders if he ever noticed how she always wanted to be closer to him when he wore it, always found excuses to sit next to him in the car or stand in line with him at the grocery store.

“What are you smiling about?”

She looks back at him, blinking, and shrugs. “Just you,” she says, simply. “You make me smile.” Emma plucks the shirt off of the bed and turns her back to Killian so she can carefully untie her swimsuit top, drop the wet fabric on the floor, and slide the shirt over her head. It even smells like him, something spicy and comforting, and she wriggles out of the bottoms with another smile and smooths the fabric over her ass.

By the time she turns back around, Killian’s jaw is almost to the floor.

“C’mon Casanova, you’re looking at me like you’ve never had a naked woman in your room before,” Emma says with a smirk of her own, crossing the room to brush her lips against his stubbled cheek and then slide into his bed. The sheets are a little cool. “Now are you gonna join me or what?”

“Swan, I don’t think-”

“Stop thinking, Jones,” Emma groans, closing her eyes and flopping down on the bed again. “If I promise not to jump you will you come join me?”

Killian nods, shortly, steps into his closet, and emerges a moment later in boxers. Tentatively, he climbs into the bed and reclines. His back is stiff and his eyes are wide open and Emma giggles. She crosses the bed to tuck herself up against his side, fingers tracing up and down his ribs until he finally relaxes.

“So how long have you wanted to kiss me?” Emma asks, voice muffled by his still-damp flesh.

“Since the first day I saw you, lass,” he replies.

“Yeah?”

“Aye. Never thought you would let me though. Those walls of yours are pretty high.” He shifts slightly so he can press his lips to her temple, like he’s afraid that what he said will upset her.

“Yeah. They are.”

He stiffens again, softening when her own lips press against his chest.

“But I think maybe I’d like that to change,” she whispers right before she drifts off.

* * *

  
For Christmas he buys her a brand-new ugly sweater and she buys him a Hawaiian shirt with tropical Santas and a bottle of candy cane body wash, making his face turn bright red when she whispers that she’s in a very  _giving_ mood this year.   



End file.
